


Los Desperados

by Cattraine



Series: Los Magnificos [3]
Category: Magnificent Seven (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-14
Updated: 2011-10-14
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cattraine/pseuds/Cattraine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris Larabee rolled stiffly out of his bedroll and stood, slapping his dusty black hat against his thigh in a vain effort to dislodge some of the powdery red dirt. He squinted up at the top of a nearby granite boulder, where Vin crouched, haloed by the early morning sun, spyglass focused on the badlands below the mesa.</p><p>"They still coming?"</p><p>"Yep."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Los Desperados

**Author's Note:**

> Third in the Los Magnificos trilogy. Features the Dark Seven with a cameo by the Dark side Winchesters. I strongly suggest that you read the first two stories so that you are familiar with this AU.
> 
> OW AU crossover with very dark characterization. These are not the nice guys. Rape, murder, and general mayhem.

Chris Larabee rolled stiffly out of his bedroll and stood, slapping his dusty black hat against his thigh in a vain effort to dislodge some of the powdery red dirt. He squinted up at the top of a nearby granite boulder, where Vin crouched, haloed by the early morning sun, spyglass focused on the badlands below the mesa.

"They still coming?"

"Yep." Vin stood, tucking his spyglass carefully back into his coat pocket.

"Hell! Didn't any of those idiots take off after Rafe and his boys? They've got half of the damned gold!"

Larabee scowled ferociously. This fucking posse was relentless. The large group of lawmen had hounded them almost from the moment they had robbed the train in New Mexico territory. They hadn't stopped at the border either, had swept right across it after them into Purgatorio. If Maria hadn't warned them, things could have been much worse--they had escaped with minor wounds and had barely had the chance to rest the horses and pack mules. Rafe had lost three men to the posse's sharpshooters.

The fuckers had Apache trackers too, and they had stuck like glue for the last week, despite Vin's best efforts at losing them in the harsh desert badlands. The Magnificos had looped down into the Sonora desert and were now headed back up into Arizona territory. They had split company with Raphael and his vaqueros yesterday evening, hoping that at least half of the posse would pursue them farther south into Mexico. No such luck. Apparently the entire batch of seedy Mexicans together didn't add up to enough bounty money to interest the posse compared to a chance at the infamous seven.

Ezra had loudly bemoaned the devalue of the Mexican peso compared to the American dollar when he realized there would truly be no rest for the wicked. Larabee held his stash of opium and the lack of the drug, combined with a painful bullet graze to the bicep made him cranky as hell. Nathan had given him a flask of whisky laced with a minute amount of laudanum with strict instructions to ration it as best he could, because he would get no more for the time being. As a result he was in full blown 'southern belle bitch' mood, as Buck jokingly put it.

Truth be told, they were all tired and cranky, and more then a bit unnerved. The damned posse not only had three times as many men, but remounts and supplies had been brought up as well. They were being hounded inexorably, snatching a few hours of sleep in the saddle, only Vin's skills and intimate knowledge of the territory keeping them a step ahead of their would be captors. They had dared camp for a few hours high atop the mesa near a small spring last night, certain that the posse would at least split off to pursue Raphael as well.

As a result of the constant harassment, Ez openly sniped about everything, Nate and Josiah wore perpetual grim expressions, JD constantly fidgeted and chewed his nails, and even Buck's jovial facade was cracking at the edges. Only their hostage, Mary Travis, wore an expression of smug satisfaction, certain that their capture was imminent. It had apparently not dawned on her yet that she probably wouldn't survive any rescue attempt.

Chris clambered up the pile of rocks to Vin's boulder and squinted over his shoulder. His naked eye could barely make out the thin dust cloud on the horizon and the tiny riders that raised it. As he squinted, Vin reached down beside him and brought up his buffalo gun, bracing the long barrel carefully on a slab of rock. Larabee arched one brow.

"You plan on shooting them all from here, pard?"

"Nope. Just that feller in front with the white hat and the white horse."

"You don't like his horse?"

"Nah. I don't like his hat," Vin quipped.

Chris grinned, amused as always by Vin's wickedly dry sense of humor. His partner flashed white teeth in a dusty face in return in a rare smile, before turning his attention back to his would be target. Larabee slid a hand into the Tracker's coat pocket and helped himself to the spyglass, telescoping it out and training it on the desert below and the approaching posse. This he had to see. The shot was going to be phenomenal.

The sons of bitches were starting to grate on his nerves as well. They never seemed to break pace, or slow down. The part of him that didn't reluctantly admire their strict professionalism wanted very badly to blow their damned heads off. Vin, however, seemed totally unperturbed. Other than an occasional pause to study them with a soft, 'huh', he just didn't seem worried---and quite simply, if Vin wasn't worried, then Chris wasn't either. Vin Tanner was one of the most fiendishly devious individuals that he knew, and if Tanner had a hidden plan, then he was looking forward to the reveal. He trusted the man as he did no other.

The sounds of a struggle and a muffled shriek of feminine outrage behind them startled them both into looking over their shoulders. The rest of the camp was waking up and as usual, Buck and JD were taking advantage of their hostage to relieve their morning wood. From the looks of it, Buck had already had first go, and was holding Mary down for JD to take his turn, laughing and crooning into the angry woman's ear even as he knelt at her head and pinned her arms and shoulders to the ground. From this angle Chris and Vin had a fine view of JD's skinny, pale ass flexing as he pumped into the woman with short, rabbit-like thrusts. Mary's skirts and petticoats were pushed up around her waist and she kicked and bucked angrily, trying to dislodge the boy.

The moment he finished and withdrew, settling back on his heels to pull up his britches, she took full advantage and heaved up enough to kick him viciously in the balls with the sharply pointed toe of her shoe. Dunne gave a wheezing, cut off scream of his own and curled up in a ball, hands folded protectively over his deflated privates.

Buck winced and swore, taking a moment to make sure Mary's hands were still securely bound before releasing her and checking on his writhing, moaning protÈgÈe. He didn't bother to tie her feet as she scrambled out of reach. She had nowhere to run. He ignored Nathan and Josiah's mocking laughter and shook his head and clucked consolingly as he tried to coax the boy out of his knot of misery. The young'un had a few minor things to keep in mind when it came to the fine points of ravishment. Number one, always watch the feet.

"Told ya she kicked like a mule," Vin called.

Larabee and Tanner exchanged amused snickers and turned their attention back to the posse. Behind them, they could hear Josiah and Nathan efficiently breaking camp and tacking up the horses, even as they catcalled J.D. Vin hummed softly under his breath and settled himself against the stone, taking his sweet time as he adjusted his aim and sighted down the long, heavy barrel, tongue flicking out to test the wind.

Larabee knelt quietly next to him, glass trained on the white horse below and its fancy dressed rider. He could see the man's shiny tin star glinting on his lapel. The man's ramrod posture was vaguely familiar. Probably one of the many self-righteous lawmen that had vowed to bring Los Magnificos to justice. J.D. had a habit of collecting all the penny dreadfuls and newspaper clippings he could find on their gang's misdeeds and gleefully read them aloud at every opportunity.

"Think that's Charlie Siringo?" He asked Vin, scratching the blonde stubble on his chin thoughtfully.

"Naw. Old Charlie's in Texas. Besides, he wouldn't be caught dead wearing such a stupid hat on the trail." Vin slanted a laughing gaze his way and winked a brilliant blue eye. "I wouldn't shoot Charlie. I like him. He tells good stories."

His grin grew broader at Larabee's jealous scowl.

"Where the hell did you meet Charlie Siringo?"

"Texas."

"Never mind, I don't wanna know," Larabee huffed.

Vin turned back to his target, hiding his grin. Larabee was so damned easy to wind up sometimes. He squinted lazily down the barrel, took a slow, deep breath, released it and then gently squeezed the trigger. The sound of the shot boomed out and he raised his head and watched with satisfaction as Fancy Man flipped backwards off his horse. His men milled around in confusion, some taking cover, unsure of where the shot came from and if more would follow.

Larabee squinted through the glass at the flailing limbs and red splatter and frowned.

"He's still alive."

"Yep. Gut shot. It'll take him a few hours to greet the Reaper."

Vin gave him another grin.

"Give them something to think about, and give us a few extra hours head start to get where we're headed, while they argue over who's the new straw boss."

Whistling softly, he carefully shouldered his rifle and slipped catlike down the rocks heading over to the pinion tree where Peso was tethered away from the other horses. Behind him, Larabee shook his blond head in admiration and eyed the confused, antlike melee far below. The posse had dismounted and hidden themselves along a rocky gully, heads occasionally popping up like prairie dogs, seeking the sniper.

"Damn."

Folding up the glass, he grinned in wicked appreciation and slid down off the rock to follow his partner.

7777777

Vin's shot did indeed win them some breathing space. The confused posse milled around for hours before taking up the pursuit again. By that time, the Magnificos had made it to the next hidden waterhole that Vin had in mind before they looped north up into the Hoodoos and Utah. The plan was to lose the posse and then split the gang until the heat died down. Ezra, Buck and JD would head for San Francisco with the majority of the gold and hole up at Maude's fancy hotel. Josiah and Nathan would take the southwestern route west through Arizona, and Vin and Chris would head north into Wyoming territory. Some day when the fuss died down, they would all hook up again.

Vin led them on a tiny, nearly invisible switchback trail up onto the flat top of a steep mesa. There was a spring at the top that never went dry, even in the heat of the desert summer or drought. He had mentioned that the Apache considered it a holy place. It would be a good place to rest the horses and their own weary bones.

They hadn't expected to run into company when they got there. They reined in their mounts warily, more surprised than they wanted to admit. There was a small camp already set up near the Spring, with three horses and a big red Missouri mule tethered close under boulders heavily speckled with petroglyphs.

A dark man stood waiting patiently for them, rifle cradled easily in the crook of his arm, his black duster flapping around his ankles. A second, younger man huddled close to the fire under a ragged army greatcoat, shaggy head tilted as he watched their approach with sharp, bright eyes, huge hands resting on his knees. When he stood he would easily be six feet five.

To Vin's surprise the older man flashed white teeth in a smile and touched a hand to his forehead in a brief, mock salute, his eyes on Chris.

"Been a while, Captain."

"John Winchester? Goddamn!"

Their laconic leader swung down from Pony and strode over to embrace the stranger. They both grinned foolishly and pounded each other's backs in the manner of old friends.

Vin tilted his head and watched curiously. Chris didn't have many friends, but apparently this John Winchester was an old one.

He was a handsome man, roughly Larabee's age and height and as dark as Chris was fair. Winchester's hair and whiskers were shot with silver and he was dressed in clerical black--a black deacon's vest and pants over a simple white band-collared shirt. His dark, caped duster gave the impression of heavy wings, but there was nothing clerical about the silver studded rig he wore around his waist. His watch fob was a black beaded rosary. The gun belt was studded with silver discs stamped with arcane symbols and the handle of the Colt tucked in the holster was carved and set with a silver pentacle.

Something tingled at the nape of Vin's neck, and he slowly turned his head, surveying the camp. There was someone else here, watching them. The young man still huddled by the small fire grinned suddenly at his discomfort, eyes bright with manic glee and Vin shuddered as cold slithered up his spine. There was something familiar and very wrong with this boy. Slowly he turned his head to his left, one hand slid casually down to his mare's leg, and the boy actually chuckled aloud, head thrown back, teeth flashing with pleasure at Vin's discomfort.

Winchester stepped back from Chris, giving his shoulder one last affectionate thump.

"It's okay Dean. You can come out now."

Vin blinked and turned his head sharply as another man stepped out of the rocks to his left, rifle in hand. He had been invisible until he chose to move, his clothing a mix of grays and duns bleeding into the rocks around him. Sharp mossy green eyes set in a sinfully handsome smirking face met Vin's and the shock of recognition had him swearing aloud. He knew this man!

"Tokala!"

He sputtered in shock, mind flashing back to his boyhood days spent with the people, and the summer they had camped near the Cheyenne and he had met two captive white boys like himself. He turned back to the campfire as the youth there laughed again, and stared hard trying to reconcile the image of a chattering little boy he remembered with the lanky man seated there.

"Kangee?"

Fox and Crow. The brothers whose father had tracked them down and taken back from the Cheyenne, without any bloodshed. Vin remembered the vague envy he had felt as his friends rode away that day. He had had no blood kin who cared enough to come for him.

Now his friends were grown men. He swung down from Peso and solemnly held out a hand to Tokala, now Dean. Dean gave him a wide grin and clasped his wrist hard in a warrior's grip.

"Been a long time, Hawk."

Vin studied the chiseled, freckled face. A few years younger than himself, Dean had grown into a damned handsome man. Striking hazel-green eyes set in an almost classically handsome face, complete with the most sinful mouth Vin had ever seen on a man, under close-cropped bronze hair. The wicked, thin scar that curved from under his left ear almost to the corner of his mouth only accentuated his good looks. The full mouth twisted into a smirk.

"Guess it's a day for reunions!"

Dean nodded towards the campfire, where John and Chris were watching them curiously. The youngest Winchester was watching them too--laughter gone, his slanted cat eyes narrowed on Vin's hand still clasping Dean's wrist. Very aware of the prickle of those eyes, Vin carefully let go and stepped back, and together they moved to join the others by the campfire.

7777777

After a brief round of introductions, the gang settled down for a rest. They were surprised at the offer of freshly brewed coffee, and a meager portion of hardtack and toro--buffalo jerky. It was almost as though the Winchesters had expected them. It turned out that John and Chris knew each other from their days in the Union Calvary. John had been a sergeant from Kansas and Chris a Captain from Indiana. During the final days of the war, John had saved Chris' life not once, but twice. The first time plucking him off the battlefield in mid-gallop after his horse had been shot out from beneath him, and later at the field hospital where scavengers robbed both the wounded and the dead.

John's boys, Sam and Dean had met Vin the year they had been taken captive from their father's hunting camp along the Texas border. It had taken the elder Winchester months of patient, persistent tracking to finally locate his sons. That the Cheyenne had surrendered them without an argument said a lot about John Winchester's dark reputation.

There had a been a brief, awkward scuffle when Mary Travis had pushed her way forward and pleaded prettily to be rescued, but John had simply raised an eyebrow and ignored her, even when her pleas became sobs. He made it plain that her situation was not his business. Dean's appreciative eyes had roved lazily over the ripe curves of her body, lingering on her ripped bodice and the creamy flesh it revealed, but he had said nothing except for a murmured aside to his brother that had Sam flashing a wicked grin in response.

Apparently the Winchesters were traveling north to meet an old friend for a hunt. Vin assumed that they were bounty hunters or hired guns. They moved like predators, silent and without a wasted motion. That Dean had gotten the drop on him was a testament to his skill. Vin sat back on his heels by the fire and sipped his coffee. None of the Winchesters had turned a hair when they learned of the posse hot on Los Magnifico's heels, nor had they seemed too worried to be traveling in the same direction as the infamous gang. Vin had the notion that it took a hell of a lot to rattle a Winchester.

Chris sent a limping JD up into the rocks with an order to let them know the second he spotted the posse's dust. They loosened the horse's girths and let them drink and graze near the little spring. The Winchester's small herd kept to themselves--and ears flattened and big teeth flashed if one of the strangers ventured too near. They had been well trained. Buck found that out when he tried to pat Dean's long-limbed, sleek, black mare and nearly lost his fingers. He had hastily stepped away when the big red mule had flattened his ears and moved between man and mare, pivoting his well-muscled hindquarters towards him, preparing to kick him into next week.

They settled down to rest. John and Chris sat across from each other, chatting and reminiscing about their war days. Mary sulked in the shade of a nearby boulder, head on her knees, shoulders drooping in disappointment. Nate lay back and pulled his hat over his eyes for a nap. Ezra bitched about the heat and his sore arm in a ten-minute diatribe that only Sam listened to with any real interest, before he finally settled back to nap as well, after a long pull at his flask.

Josiah sat back and eyed the youngest Winchester with unconcealed interest. When the boy raised his shaggy head and he met those feral, glittering eyes he felt a familiar chill. Mad. This boy was mad as a hatter, as mad as Josiah's sister Hannah, long ago abandoned to the care of the gentle sisters of the small nunnery in Vista City. Even as the thought crossed his mind, Sam's eyes met his and narrowed. The corner of his wide mouth quirked up in some private amusement, and he raised his chin, held Josiah's gaze and began to chant softly in Latin, "Unus pro moestitia--" the entire old English rhyme about crows right up to the ending of "ten for the Devil his own self."

It was all the former priest could do to keep from crossing himself, and he hid his discomfort beneath the wide brim of his hat and behind his mug of coffee. It was as though the younger Winchester had reached into his mind and read his deepest fears aloud for all to hear. He managed to meet those glittering dark eyes for another few seconds, and shuddered, as the dark pupils momentarily seemed to flood Sam's entire eyes--changing into black, inhuman, soulless pools.

"Samuel."

A quiet word from John Winchester had his youngest sulkily dropping his chin to his knees and staring into the fire, mumbling softly to himself in Latin. He began to softly rock back and forth, humming to himself, hazel eyes now fixed dreamily on the flickering flames.

Josiah found himself fingering the charms on his rosary, blunt fingertips nervously rolling a heavy, carved ivory bead in the shape of a skull on the chain.

It didn't help when Sam flicked his gaze back up to his and mouthed two words--"Memento Morti," at him before returning to his contemplation of the fire.

He turned his attention to the older brother, Dean, where he sat with Vin, both chattering in some Indian dialect that Josiah didn't recognize. Now there was a handsome boy. He let his eyes feast on both young men as they sat, heads together, catching up on old times. It wasn't often that you ran across a man as good looking as Vin Tanner, but this Dean Winchester was a match. White perfect teeth flashed as he gestured in mid-story. He was a compact, well-built young man; the only visible flaw that Josiah could see was his facial scar and slightly bowed legs. He had striking green eyes set in a classically handsome face and a full mouth made for sin.

He wore a dun jacket and vest over a faded gray cotton shirt, and tight buckskin vaquero pants studded with silver down the seams. His boots were old and worn, but the polished brown leather rig around his narrow waist held a pair of twin pearl handled Colt 45's. There was also a wickedly long bone-handled blade tucked in a sheath at the small of his back, and probably another tucked in a boot.

Josiah felt eyes and glanced up to meet both John Winchester's steel gaze and Samuel's sullen glare. He nodded to the elder and politely dropped his gaze, signaling that he would not pursue his obvious interest in the older boy. He had no doubt that the elder would gut him like a fish if he had persisted while the youngest son laughed and looped his intestines into knots. Obviously these Winchesters were accustomed to looking out for themselves.

After a while, Dean motioned for Vin to follow and led him away from camp and up into the rocks, ignoring Sam's scowl and Chris' narrowed gaze. Vin followed Dean up through the rocks into a narrow cleft beneath a heavy overhang of red granite to a shallow grave dug into the sandy soil. The shovel was still leaning against a boulder. He motioned Vin closer, squatted and held up the decapitated head by a gory length of dark hair for the tracker to see. Vin hissed out a silent curse at the sight of the rows of sharp, inhuman teeth revealed by the pale, drawn back lips of the corpse.

"Vampire," Dean said briefly.

"Last of a nest we tracked up from Sonora. Fuckers wiped out an entire village. Even drained the babies dry. Took us a month to get them all."

Vin watched curiously as he placed the head on the ground, braced it with his boot, and took a pair of pliers out of a pocket and neatly yanked out the four sharpest, most prominent teeth. These he carefully wrapped in a bandanna and tucked in his pocket. The head he kicked back into the grave with the corpse, then quickly shoveled the dirt over it, neatly filling the hole, then piling it with rocks. From the efficient way he moved, he had had a lot of practice.

Vin remembered the stories Dean had told him and the other kids that long ago summer around the fire. Apparently they hadn't all been tall tales.

"So, this is what you and your brother and daddy hunt?"

He asked slowly, as he helped pile on a thick layer of heavy stones. He had always known that there were things that lurked in the dark that men were better off not knowing too much about. He realized now just how fortunate he had been in not running into some of these shadow dwellers, and he now knew why the Cheyenne had called John Winchester "The Shadow Hunter" and had not lifted a hand to stop him when he had ridden into camp that day to reclaim his sons.

Dean flashed him another brilliant smile, pleased that he understood.

"Yeah, among other things. We hunt restless spirits, ghouls, werewolves, skin walkers, demons. Evil things that prey on people. The things that no one wants to believe exist outside fairy tales."

He gave Vin's unhappy face a sharp glance.

"I can tell you how to recognize them, and how to kill them," he offered. In his profession, ignorance could kill you faster than a bullet, and knowledge was power.

Vin lifted his head from his sober study of the now hidden grave, and nodded sharply.

"I'd like that," he replied simply. He decided to be bold and met Dean's eyes straight on. "What's wrong with Kan--Sam?"

Dean frowned and his grip on the shovel tightened as he answered defensively.

"Nothings wrong with Sam. He ain't crazy. He's a seer. His sees--things. The visions give him bad headaches."

His shoulders slumped and he raised a hand to scratch at the nape of his neck.

"We've been on the trail for almost three months now on this hunt. We're out of his medicine and he's hurting."

He scowled down at the implement in his hands. He was talking too much again. It came from being away from people so much with only his father and brother for company. It had felt good to see Hawk again. He had been one of Dean's only friends growing up. The nomadic existence he lived didn't allow for many close friends.

He raised his eyes, startled at the gentle touch of Vin's hand on his shoulder.

"Nathan is a healer. He always has a good stock of medicines for the trail and he knows a lot about herbs. He'd be glad to mix something up for Sam."

Clear blue eyes met bright green. Twin white smiles flashed.

"Thanks, Hawk."

Vin nodded and led the way back towards camp, Dean on his heels, shovel over his shoulder.

"So, how's that little blonde filly? She as feisty as she looks?"

Vin chuckled. "Yep. Kicked JD's balls up into his belly this mornin'."

Dean flashed him another grin.

"I like 'em feisty!"

Laughing, they continued on down the slope into camp.

7777777

Back at the spring they found everyone busily packing up to move on. JD had spotted the posse's dust on the horizon. Vin met Chris' scowl with an amiable nod and gave a surly Sam a small nod as well. He hid a private smile under the rim of his hat as he tightened Peso's girth and watched as Dean chivvied his brother into a better mood. He recognized the jealousy in the younger Winchester's eyes. He got smacked with it from a certain gunslinger almost every day.

"I hope you got a plan, pard. Because those assholes aren't slowing down."

Chris stood at his shoulder, absently slapping the dust off his hat against his thigh, eyes on Josiah as he hoisted Mary Travis neatly up onto a pack mule and tied her ankles to the stirrups. She was glaring over the big preacher's head at John Winchester who was saddling up a big bay gelding, still offended at the man's refusal to play white knight and rescue her. The elder Winchester ignored her, speaking quietly to his eldest son, as Dean tucked the shovel into the big red mule's pack harness.

Dean nodded and quickly tacked up his lean, black mare, pausing to pat her soft nose affectionately when she nuzzled his arm. Then he moved over and saddled up Sam's sturdy gelding before going back to the fire and coaxing his brother into standing unsteadily, tugging gently at the big hands, then sliding a supportive arm around his waist to lead him over to his horse. Sam leaned against his brother gratefully, adoring eyes on his face, unaware or uncaring of the others watching.

The brothers paused by the spring to watch curiously as Nathan finished filling all the canteens and water skins, then took a small leather pouch from his saddlebag and sprinkled the contents into the tiny stone basin that the spring trickled into. He took a stick and stirred the grayish green powder into the small pool, then gave them both a wicked grin.

"Devil's shoe string. Enough to give them lawmen the running shits for a month," he rumbled cheerfully, in his hoarse remnant of a voice.

Sam laughed delightedly, and Dean shared Nate's wicked grin.

"Will you show us the plant, sir?" Sam asked, always eager to learn something useful, wicked or new.

"I sure will, we get the time afore the bastards catch up with us."

Nathan grinned at them, keen eyes on the tall, thin boy's pale, sweating face. Noting the almost imperceptible shake of his hands as he clutched his brother's shoulders, and the shorter man's protective stance. This boy was hurting and trying hard not to show it. He had heard John Winchester's murmur of 'bad headaches' in answer to Larabee's soft question earlier, when apparently it had been decided that the Winchesters would ride with them through the badlands. He rummaged through his saddlebag again and pulled out a fragrant brown paper packet and a corked bottle.

"This herb mix is good for sleep without pain, and a sip of this eases most headache pain. You mix a big pinch of the herbs with a cup of hot water tonight before you go to sleep, and take a sip of this here tisane every six hours or so. There's only a tiny drop or so of poppy juice with willow bark and other good herbs, so it's not something that you'll get to craving, like pure laudanum."

He held the medicines out and watched as Dean took them eagerly, beaming that handsome smile at him, ignoring Sam's frown.

"Thanks Doc! We're beholden to you."

Sam nodded thanks at him as his brother gently urged him over to his horse, murmuring softly into his ear. Sam hesitated only a moment more before sipping gingerly from the bottle that Dean uncorked and held to his lips. The sweet, pleasant taste caused his eyes to widen in surprise. He had been expecting something foul. Nathan had added a goodly amount of honey and clover blossoms to his concoction. He climbed up onto his tall gelding, gathering up the reins and absently licking his lips. He didn't even object when Dean tucked the bottle away in his own vest pocket. The steady knifelike throb behind his eyes was already beginning to ease.

Nathan turned at the feel of eyes on him and nodded at Vin's approving smile. It was always a good thing to be on the tracker's good side, and he had a feeling that having a favor owed to him by the Winchester's wasn't a bad thing either.

He turned to take the reins that Josiah held out for him. The big man quirked a brow, his voice a low bass rumble.

"That boy is touched, you know."

Nathan nodded.

"Mebbe so, 'Siah. But a man can be touched by angels as well as devils. Least that's what my old auntie used to say. Pays to stay on their good side."

They mounted up. Vin took point as usual, followed by Larabee and the elder Winchester. Ezra, Mary, Sam and the pack mules were sandwiched in the middle, with Dean riding beside his brother, only dropping back when the trail narrowed. Nate and Josiah followed with Buck and JD riding rear guard.

Nathan squinted up the trail at Vin. It had become apparent to him that the tracker knew exactly where they were going, and so far he wasn't a bit worried about the posse that was slowly gaining on their asses. He rode his evil-tempered horse with the same relaxed, easy confidence. Nate chewed his lip thoughtfully. He had the feeling that the posse behind them was in for a nasty surprise. He could almost feel sorry for the lawmen behind them. Almost.

7777777

They rode steadily north all day and into the night, into the mountains, Vin sticking to a tiny deer trail and making no attempts to hide their tracks. When they finally camped in a narrow arroyo it was almost midnight. They huddled by a tiny fire and gnawed on strips of jerky before curling up in their bedrolls. Josiah had first watch, and he sat up in the rocks above out of the firelight to keep an eye on the back trail. It was a quiet, clear night, the moon was almost full, hovering above them and casting deep shadows among the rocks.

He watched as Dean Winchester coaxed his brother into drinking a mug of the medicinal tea, and pressed a strip of jerky and a biscuit into his hand, then sat by him, stroking his hair until he ate and slept. Then he and Vin picked up their rifles and slipped away down the trail into the darkness. John and Chris sat, heads together as they talked softly for a while before lying down, using their saddles as pillows. Apparently they weren't expecting the younger men back anytime soon.

Sometime near dawn, Buck took over his watch. Josiah rolled up in his serape, back to a snoring Nate and closed his own eyes. When he opened them next, it was early dawn and Vin and Dean were back and there was a familiar, handsome white horse tethered with the others. Vin was sharpening his bowie, and there were two glossy, black haired scalps drying on a boulder. He and Chris wandered off into the rocks, Chris moving with his narrow side-winding gait, close on Vin's heels.

Josiah figured they would be gone for a few minutes and he had a brief mental flash of Vin kneeling at the gunslingers feet in the shadows while Chris tangled his long fingers into the tracker's hair, roughly guiding that lush, hot mouth. Uncomfortable, he turned over, adjusting his own morning hardness, only to find himself nearly face to face with a smirking Sam Winchester.

The youngest Winchester was leaning back against his saddle, his dozing brother cradled against his chest, one big hand with its too thin wrist stroking through Dean's hair, wide awake, wicked eyes fixed on Josiah. Again, Josiah felt as though the boy knew exactly what was in his head. Frowning, he rolled over on his back, palmed himself and glared blankly at the pale sky. There was something about the brothers that niggled at him. He couldn't quite place his finger on it.

His pondering was interrupted by a familiar scuffle off to the left, as Buck forcibly mounted Mary, crooning whispered endearments at her hissed curses. He thought about it for a minute, then shrugged, sat up and went to take a turn himself. A fuck was a fuck and he took it where he could get it.

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They mounted up at first light and rode until mid-day, really pushing their mounts at a faster pace for the first time. When noon came, it finally became obvious that Vin Tanner had a plan in mind. While the others rested and watered the horses and mules, Vin climbed a narrow spine of rock and used Chris' shaving mirror to flash a signal across the canyon. He waited for a few seconds, then grinned at the brief returned signal, before climbing back down.

By this time Ezra was dying of curiosity and demanded answers.

"Ah think, Mister Tanner, that it is high time that you let us ignorant peons all in on this convoluted grand scheme of things that has been amalgamating in your grey matter."

At Vin's frown, Chris murmured a translation.

"He wants to know what you got planned."

So did Chris, in fact. He eyed his partner expectantly.

Vin sighed. Some folks just had no patience. He took a deep breath and spoke rapidly.

"We're taking a short cut through Comanchero territory. Luckily, I know their leader. Lucky we can pay the toll. The posse ain't so lucky. I reckon by the time they meet up with old Kojay and his boys we'll be long gone. I also reckon that posse ain't gonna make it back home."

He climbed back up on Peso and looked back at them expectantly.

Everyone exchanged looks. Dean and Sam laughed. Chris chuckled and climbed into Pony's saddle. Nathan rolled his eyes at Josiah, who was grinning broadly. Buck and JD began to eye the surrounding rocks suspiciously. John Winchester shook his head, lips quirked in amusement. Mary Travis burst into tears, finally realizing that her hopes of rescue were fading fast.

Ezra sighed deeply. It had been a long speech for Mr. Tanner, eloquent even. Comancheros. Wonderful. Ezra knew what those heathens did for amusement. Maybe next time he would keep his mouth shut. He decided that if he ever made it to San Francisco he would never leave civilization again. Even if he did have to share the city with Mother.

Vin called a halt again in late afternoon, at the mouth of a narrow canyon. The others watched curiously as he dismounted and led the white horse he and Dean had captured the previous night up to where Peso stood. They became even more fascinated as he carefully curried the white mare, threw a colorfully striped trade blanket over her back, then turned to where Mary sat listlessly on a mule.

He untied her and pulled her down, ignoring her squeak of protest. Even sunburned and dusty, she was beautiful. He eyed her speculatively, then surprised everyone by abruptly ripping the bodice of her blue dress open and off, leaving her in her thin, white chemise, fair face and torso framed and set off by her cobalt skirt. Vin studied his handiwork for a long moment, then reached up and ignoring her protests and struggles, pulled the remaining combs and pins from her hair, tugging it to tumble in long silver locks over her creamy shoulders. Buck sighed appreciatively at the sight. Satisfied, Vin nodded, then boosted her up on the white mare's back. They made a pretty picture, the pale, lovely woman on the white horse.

Vin turned to find Chris eyeing him patiently.

"Kojay's got a thing for the color white. It's his medicine color. I reckon Miz Mary is about as white as a body can get."

Larabee leaned on his pommel, one blond brow quirked in amusement.

"So, Mary is the toll?"

"You got it, Cowboy."

Vin winked at him, climbed back on Peso and led the white mare with their captive into the mouth of the canyon. The others followed, ignoring Mary's shrill, outraged protests. The woman was a burden they would be glad to get rid off. She had served her purpose as hostage during their escape from Purgatorio, but now she was just slowing them down.

Kojay's scouts seemed to melt out of the rocks, appearing on all sides when the bottlenecked canyon finally opened into a small valley, complete with a half concealed camp of wickiups and tethered horses near a small waterhole. They were a mix of Hispanic, Apache and Half-breeds, squat, scarred dangerous men accustomed to life in the badlands, There were a few tense moments while Vin spoke with the white haired, wolf-eyed elder that Larabee assumed was Kojay---but it became clear after a few minutes that all was well. The old buzzard's eyes were already glued to Mary's pale bosom.

The old man greeted Vin like a long lost son, as did his now smiling warriors. The greeting grew visibly warmer when Tanner gestured to Mary Travis and handed over the white mare's reins to the leering old man. Mary for once was silent, horrified at her new fate. It was one thing to be captured and abused by her own kind, but quite another to be handed over to a savage as mere trade goods.

The Comanchero's grins grew even wider with anticipation when Vin told of the posse dogging their heels. He made sure to mention the small mule train laden with supplies the lawmen had with them. Kojay's men were young and bored. The narrow canyon was the perfect place for an ambush. The posse offered a chance for coup, weapons, good horses and fat mules. Vin laughed at the joke Kojay made regarding the last, grinned and rubbed his own stomach, while the old man cackled. Apparently mule meat was considered a delicacy in these parts.

Finally, the ritual greetings over with, Kojay barked some orders to his men, passed Vin a fat brown jug of tiswin, the fiery fermented corn liquor the Apaches favored, and dragged his now sobbing, struggling prize off to his wickiup. His men shouted catcalls and encouragement as he pulled the woman into the brush shelter, and continued to do so until the ensuing sounds of forced copulation ceased and a beaming Kojay emerged, readjusting his breechcloth, and gesturing for his Mestizo blood brother, Eban, to take a turn. Vin had no doubts that Mary would be intimately acquainted with most of the men in camp before long. He had seen no other women in the camp, although that meant little. They were probably hidden away at a more secure camp deeper in the mountains.

Tanner leaned over and murmured to the others.

" We leave as soon as the horses are rested. Best to get an early start while Kojay's boys have their minds on the posse and a little bloodshed. That posse won't risk that bottleneck until morning, and I won't be a bit surprised if they lose their trackers before then. The rest of their Apache scouts ain't stupid, and me and Dean put the fear into them last night when we stole that mare out from under their noses and took out the night watch. So rest up now, we got one last hard ride before we're free and clear."

Larabee and Winchester nodded grimly in assent and they all moved to water and look after their animals, keeping a sharp eye on their sloe-eyed hosts. It wouldn't take much for the blood thirsty marauders to decide they made as good a prey as the posse trailing them, so they stayed alert, hands on their weapons.

Josiah and Nathan stood shoulder to shoulder at the waterhole, casually watching each other's backs as they took in every aspect of the small canyon. There was only one way in and one visible way out. Sanchez absently rubbed his big sorrel's shoulder as the horse drank deeply. As was now his habit, he kept a wary eye on the Winchester brothers. He watched as Sam squatted by the waterhole, pushed up his sleeves, revealing wiry forearms notched with knife scars and what looked like a brand. Sam dipped his bandanna in the water, then fastidiously wiped his face, pushing his long hair out of his eyes. The boy looked better now, steadier, more alert. Sanchez wasn't so sure that was a good thing.

Dean stood at his brother's back, his mare on a long rein as she dipped her sleek nose in and drank deeply. The big red mule had pushed greedily in beside Sam's placid bay gelding and was noisily blowing bubbles as he drank. Dean gave him an affectionate smack on the shoulder.

"Behave, Francis, you greedy hog. There's enough water for Baby and Beau too."

Sam snorted in amusement.

"You think he listens to you? He's a mule, Dean."

"Well, he knows where his damned oats come from too, little brother."

"Not so little," Sam murmured, watching the rose hue that spread over Dean's freckled face at his words, a small smirk on his face. He slanted a look over at the big priest and the healer and hid a grin when the big man guiltily looked away.

Dean grinned down at him.

He lightly cuffed the back of Sam's head, barely mussing his hair.

"Stop fucking with the preacher. Hawk says he's a good man. Just a touch addled."

Sam leered up at his brother.

"Aren't we all?"

They grinned at each other in mutual anticipation.

"Somebody's feeling better!"

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For the first time in weeks things went as planned, and Los Magnificos and the Winchesters slipped out of the Comanchero camp under the light of the now full moon. Kojay's men barely paid any attention at their leave taking, hyped up on tizwin in anticipation of the upcoming morning ambush of the posse, as they sharpened scalping knives and checked their guns.

Kojay himself had barely lifted a hand in farewell, intent on another round with his new woman. He liked a female with spirit and a brisk fight before a fuck always put him in a good mood. He hefted his horsehide quirt and slipped into the wickiup where his sobbing captive lay. He would keep her beaten and tied hand and foot until she realized there was no escape. She was young and strong, too. He thought maybe he might still get a son or two out of her before she wore out.

Vin set a brisk pace and they were miles away by midmorning. He eventually drew rein at the top of a ridge, and held up a hand, head cocked. The others drew rein as well and waited to see what had caused the tracker to halt. Then, very faintly, there came the distant sound of gunshots echoing out of the canyon behind them. The sounds continued for almost a half hour before fading into silence. The unstoppable posse had met the immovable ambush and lost the fight.

Tanner and Larabee exchanged wicked grins as they all headed out again at a more sedate pace. They had no reason to hurry now. Buck whooped and slapped the back of JD's head, playfully knocking his derby off. As the string of horses continued to wind its way through the narrow canyons, he began to whistle cheerfully. It had been a shame to leave Mary behind, but there was a world of other females out there waiting to test his prowess. He was looking forward to San Francisco. He wanted to try one of them Chinese gals Ezra was always talking about.

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They camped early that afternoon, tired of running. Vin had led them into a small grassy valley, finally out of the snake-like twists of the canyon badlands. They set up near a small stream, one that meandered down and fed into the Rio Grande, and tethered the horses and mules beneath a small grove of cottonwoods. Nathan hauled out his better cooking gear and some hoarded supplies and threw together a savory stew supplemented by the fat rabbits Vin and Dean brought in. Both young men had backtracked along their trail to insure that none of the Comancheros had taken it into their heads to add them as prey along with the posse.

They had stopped when they heard the reedy, distant sound of a man screaming on the wind and saw a thin stream of dark, oily smoke over the canyon. Apparently Kojay's men had spared a few of the posse to amuse themselves with later with slow torture. Satisfied that the Comancheros were too busy to bother following, they had turned back north. When they ran up a nest of rabbits, Dean had skewered two with narrow throwing knives almost before Vin could blink and add another to the pot with his sawed off.

Back at camp they handed over the rabbits to Nate, and took their time as they untacked and curried their horses. Dean's Baby was as sweet tempered as Peso was evil. She nuzzled lovingly at her master's hair as he carefully checked her trim hooves for small stones that might be caught in her shoes. Peso, on the other hand, snapped at Vin's shoulder and only settled after the man cursed and gave him a sharp punch to the nose.

When Peso then tried to turn his attentions to the sleek mare, she laid her ears back flat and curled her lip and lifted a back hoof in silent warning. He immediately turned his attention to the sparse grass and pretended he was only interested in grazing after all. Vin chuckled at the big horse's antics.

"Worse then a damned mule," He grumbled, even as he gave the big horse's powerful shoulder a slap and made sure he was well tethered away from the other horses.

Dean chuckled as he finished inspecting Baby's feet and began to brush her sleek coat.

"Yep. But I reckon nobody has tried to steal him lately."

He grinned at Vin, running a loving hand down the mare's glossy flank. She whickered at him softly and nudged his jacket pockets, searching for the treats he kept there. He obliged and slipped her a lump of rock candy, which she crunched delicately between big teeth.

Vin admired the sleek black mare. She was tall, almost sixteen hands, but built long and lean with powerful hindquarters, like a thoroughbred, made for speed. Yet there was a delicate cast to her head that hinted at additional hot blood, from either an Arab or Andalusian source in her pedigree.

"She as fast as she looks?"

"Faster. Got stamina, too. She can lope all damned day if she has to. Saved my ass, more than once, I can tell you, and Sammy's too. Took her from a horse dealer out of Kansas. She has a pedigree a mile long."

Vin nodded and meandered off to find Chris. The older man was seated next to John Winchester, watching curiously as he carefully etched tiny symbols onto what looked like silver rifle rounds. The elder Winchester's lips moved silently as he worked, and Vin realized the man was murmuring prayers or charms meant to make the bullets more effective against the supernatural creatures they hunted.

Dean had told him the signs to watch for in vampires, and had explained how to kill them by decapitation, but he had also mentioned men that shape shifted into beasts. Creatures ruled by the moon, which could only be slain with pure, blessed silver. Chris caught his eye and tilted his head and stood. They meandered down the stream a ways.

They passed the place where Sam was curled up in the shade of a nearby mesquite bush, napping, shaggy head on his folded up greatcoat. He slept restlessly, eyes moving beneath his lids, big hands flexing, the hilt of a curved scythe blade protruded from under his coat. Ezra slept nearby too, catching up on his beauty sleep, wounded arm tucked close against his side, hat pulled low over his eyes. Nate squatted by the fire, mixing up packets of medicinal herbs and keeping an eye on the bubbling stew. Buck was checking over the pack mule's tack while JD rubbed salve onto a beginning sore spot on the animal's shoulder.

Chris tilted his head again and nodded at Josiah, where he was perched high in the rocks, hat low and rifle in his lap, eyes on their back trail. It would be a few days and more miles out of Comanchero territory before they let their guard down. He turned back to Vin, pulled his hat off and scratched absently at his blond head. They could all use a bath. He eyed the tiny stream thoughtfully, then lifted his eyes back to Vin, who was waiting patiently for him to speak.

"You know what the Winchesters hunt?" he murmured, eyes back on the camp. John's dark head bent over his painstaking work.

Vin nodded.

"Dean told me." he said simply.

Chris nodded again absently, eyes far away, lost in memory.

"When we were in the war, John Winchester saved my ass twice. The first time when he hauled me off the battlefield at Perryville when my horse got shot out from under me, the second time later that night. I had a broken leg and wound fever. They had all the wounded laid out near an old churchyard. There were-- things that were feeding on the dead and dying on the field. I was pretty out of it, but I'll never forget the sight and stench of the thing that came and tried to drag me off that night. John put a bullet in its heart and took its head off with his saber. Then he salted it and burned the corpse."

He gave Vin a sharp grin, and looked back at the camp.

"Now when I ponder it, I think he kind of used my ass as bait for the damned thing, since he came out of nowhere loaded for bear. He called the thing a ghoul. Said they fed off the dead and dying."

Vin raised his chin in acknowledgement. Winchester struck him as a ruthless man. Obsessive, even.

He thought back to the long ago summer he spent with the Winchester boys, the hushed, awed stories that Dean had told of his father. He had sounded like a myth hero to Vin, bigger than life. He remembered the day John Winchester had ridden fearlessly into a camp of Comanche on his big bay horse, face calm, broad shoulders ramrod straight.

Vin frowned, chasing the memory. John had stepped calmly off his horse, and untied a dark pelt from his saddle, unrolled it and laid it at the medicine man's feet. It had been too small for a bear and, Vin had thought then, too long and narrow for a wolf. He felt a shiver run up his spine. John had left the next morning after spending the night as an honored guest in the Chief's tipi, his unprotesting sons in tow.

He remembered Dean simply lifting a hand in farewell, face already turned eagerly to the trail. Sam had been silent, sullen, looking longingly back at the weeping woman who had fostered them. A widow, she had pleaded with John Winchester to take her along, stumbling along beside his horse as he rode out of camp, tearing at her long, raven hair in grief. Vin had wondered then, why a man would refuse to take such a beautiful woman as a wife, and Laughing Crow had been beautiful, tall, slim and strong as a willow, with lovely doe eyes and a shy, perfect smile.

Now he realized, Winchester had been kind. Sparing her a life chasing horrors. He remembered Dean's whispered story of fire in the night, of running with baby Sam in his small arms and his golden haired mother's death. He looked back at his partner. He reckoned he owed John Winchester a debt twice over for Chris' life.

"I reckon we're lucky to count the Winchesters as friends."

Chris nodded thoughtfully, then flashed another smile at Vin, eyes crinkling in amusement at some private thought.

"Yeah. That doesn't mean I'm completely comfortable traveling with them. I think John would as soon shoot through a man to hit what he was aiming at, as to blink. The oldest boy is a stone cold killer and the youngest is crazier then Josiah."

Vin flashed a wide grin.

"I reckon we're traveling in good company then."

Chris snorted in amusement, slapped him on the shoulder, then kept his hand there as they headed back to camp, in perfect accord, as always. As strange and haunted as the Winchesters were, they still counted them as friends, and true friendship was something a man never discarded.

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That night, they lounged around the cheerful campfire, bellies full of savory stew and swapped tales and lies. The full moon hovered overhead. The talk had turned from the numerous women Buck was acquainted with to the best meals they had ever tasted. Nathan had spoken longingly of his old auntie's pork and collard greens, Ezra had waxed eloquent on a elaborate formal dinner he had had at a fancy hotel in the French Quarters of New Orleans, JD spoke of his mother's Boston baked beans, and even Vin had shyly mentioned his long dead mother's biscuits, when a faraway, low bass howl rang out of the canyons behind them.

The Desperados had barely reacted, assuming it was lone wolf, but the effect on the Winchesters was immediate. Dean and John stood, reaching for their rifles. Sam sat, head tilted toward the sound, and Josiah shivered at the sight of his eyes, dark pupils swamping the irises, focused--elsewhere.

"Sammy?" Dean spoke sharply, attention on their back trail. He threw a questioning look down at his brother.

The tethered horses were uneasy, and the big red mule let out a low, edgy bray, pawing the ground, big ears flat, eyes rolling nervously.

Vin felt a shiver of cold snake up his back and the hair on his nape rose. He stood as well, nostrils unconsciously testing the wind, hand on his holster, ignoring Larabee's sharp look and the other's questioning gazes. There was something out there, on their back trail and it sure as hell wasn't an ordinary wolf.

"Feeding--its feeding on the dead--the ones the Comancheros left strung up, burnt and bleeding--hungry, always so hungry, and the blood thirst never ends--" Sam rocked now, where he sat, hands clasping his knees hard, pale face sweaty, grimacing as though in pain. His lips drew back from white teeth in an unconscious snarl.

Josiah eased a bit farther away from the youngest Winchester, a white-knuckled grasp on his rifle. He watched as Dean dropped a steadying hand on Sam's shoulder and Sam stopped his insane rocking, laid his cheek against his brother's arm, eyes blinking back in focus and locking on Dean's grim face.

"It won't come tonight. Too much meat there to choose from--both quick and dead. But tomorrow--" His hoarse voice trailed away. "Tomorrow night it will hunt us." His eyes were calm now, locked with his brother's, and Dean nodded.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Buck demanded, unnerved and not shy about it. The whites of JD's eyes were showing.

John Winchester shot him a dismissive look before, turning his attention back into the darkness.

It was Vin who spoke.

"Shapeshifter. Werewolf. Loup Garou." He shot a telling look at Ezra, whose gray eyes widened in recognition. "Likes to eat men." He turned to Dean.

"You got any more of them silver bullets to spare?"

Dean grinned, a perfect white smile, already eager for battle, and nodded.

"Oh, yeah. That and more."

Seated silently beside a puzzled Nate, Josiah swallowed hard. Old stories half-forgotten and read from a long ago forbidden book rose up in his memory to haunt him. He fumbled for his rosary and clutched it, trying to think of a comforting prayer and coming up blank.

They slept uneasily, even with the Winchesters doubling the night watch. They were up and moving at the crack of dawn, John Winchester was determined that they find a better place to defend themselves before the moon rose that night. They didn't stop to eat or make coffee, just saddled up and rode, moving faster then when the posse had been almost up their ass.

Vin led, because he knew the lay of the land and had an idea of a couple of good places they could put their backs against and face the horror that coming night would bring. Dean stayed to the rear, freckled face grim as he watched their back trail.

Ezra had protested the need to break camp so hastily, disbelief open on his face. Both he and Nathan were the skeptics, Buck and JD wavered between open fear and disbelief. Josiah was grimly silent. He had seen an eerily silent murder of crows flocking in the cottonwood trees near camp this morning and had been tense every since. Larabee had taken one look at Vin and John Winchester's faces and said nothing. Merely ordered the rest of the men to get their asses in gear.

As they rode, Sam dozed in the saddle of his placid, smooth-stepping bay gelding, shaggy head drooping with fatigue. He had kept watch beside his brother most of the night, dark, tilted eyes focused inward. Josiah had watched him surreptitiously, realizing that the boy was somehow able to see the thing that howled in the dark, and was standing sentinel in his own way.

Once they reached open ground Vin urged them to a ground-eating lope and kept them at it. When he didn't stop by noon to rest the lathered animals, merely slowed down to a trot, Chris realized that his partner had a place in mind, and that it was near enough to risk winding the horses. Sure enough, shortly that afternoon he led them to a nearly hidden sandstone cul-de-sac with high walls and a shallow cave at the back with more than enough room to tether the animals and put their backs against the high rock cliff and force whatever that trailed them to meet them on their terms.

The moment they dismounted, John was barking orders to his sons. Dean and Vin moved immediately to untack, rub down and tether all the animals in the back, near the cave. Josiah noticed that they were careful to place most of the animals at the very rear, with Peso, Baby and Francis the mule on long reins in front. They were a defense for the meeker animals, he realized, and the Winchester mounts had been trained to guard. He watched as the sleek black mare and big red mule stood calmly, shoulder-to-shoulder, waiting, heads up, nostrils flaring as they scented the wind. Peso for once was quiet, standing alertly beside the black mare, ears pricked. Perhaps he, too, sensed something dangerous was coming.

Sam was gathering firewood and cutting dry brush with a wickedly sharp machete, piling it in three strategic heaps--two flanking the narrow neck of the cul-de-sac, and the third in front of where the animals sheltered. John and Chris explored the sides of their rocky refuge, climbing up heaps of boulders, instinctively seeking out sites that offered the best ambush positions. The thing that hunted them was going to walk into a hail of bullets. After helping Dean with the horses, Vin sought the high ground, seeking the best position to snipe from.

After a moment of watching, Nathan moved to help Sam gather wood. JD and Buck hesitated, then joined them and soon they had enough fuel for substantial bonfires. Ezra sat down on a rock and watched, fanning himself with his hat as he took a long swallow from his silver flask. His body language made it plain that he thought they were all fools. Josiah prowled the camp, seeking the place he felt safest, finally settling on standing behind the area where the main fire would be. He sat and watched uneasily as the Winchesters worked. They had done this before, he realized, and done it long enough that they had a well-established routine.

The elder Winchester had unloaded the red mule's pack himself, carrying it down to what would be the main campfire. Efficiently, he unrolled a thick leather hide painted with arcane symbols to reveal a glistening array of silver blades, neatly tucked in rawhide loops. The smallest was barely three inches long, the largest resembled a cavalry saber, although no saber Josiah had ever seen came etched with angelic sigils along the shiny blade, or had a hilt wrapped with thick silver wire.

Wordlessly, he handed the long blade to his youngest son, and Samuel made it disappear beneath his greatcoat. John tucked a smaller, sheathed machete into the side of his own belt. Dean was already sharpening the long, bone handled blade he wore in the back of his belt. Josiah uneasily noticed that the long curved, well-polished hilt resembled the knobbed end of a femur. The elder Winchester wordlessly offered Nathan a brace of sharp, silver leaf shaped throwing knives, and the former slave took them without a protest. John lifted his head and gave Josiah a wolfish smile, then unrolled a longer bundle and offered him the contents.

"You've got both the reach and the muscle if it comes down to that," he said simply, handing him the silver and steel bladed halberd.

Sanchez hefted the ancient weapon reverently, palms tracing the protective symbols carved into the oak shaft. It felt like it was made for his hands. For the first time since sighting the crows that morning he felt a feral grin slide across his face. This was more like it. He didn't feel so helpless now. He nodded thanks and sat back and watched as John removed a small wooden box from a saddlebag and began passing out silver bullets.

Vin and Dean got the majority of the rifle rounds, and Chris most of the pistol shells. He carefully doled out the rest, dividing them among Nathan, Buck and JD. He didn't even bother offering them to the openly disbelieving Standish, or curiously enough, his youngest son.

"Lead may slow it down and do some damage, but silver kills them. Don't waste shots and shoot to kill. Aim for the head and chest area, and for God's sake don't let it get close enough to get its teeth in you. Lycanthropy is like hydrophobia. If you get bitten, next month you'll be the one howling at the moon, and me and my boys will be the ones hunting you down."

"What about you and Sam?" Larabee asked curiously.

John closed the box and put it back in the bag. Removing his own Colt, he opened the chamber, silently displaying the silver rounds loaded within, etched with tiny symbols. He glanced over at his silent, fox eyed son with a small smile.

"Samuel prefers blades."

He reholstered his gun and frowned as he examined their preparations, dark eyes sweeping over their surroundings. He met Chris' eyes squarely. This was no time to argue over leadership and they both knew it.

"This is the way it will play out. The werewolf will follow us right into camp. We've given it only one way in and it will come. The blood thirst won't let it stop. Even an older, more wary, wolf won't be able to resist our meat scent. When it does, we'll have the fires going and we'll wait until its close enough to kill. It won't expect us to be armed with silver. I figure with Vin up high above the cave and you and I on the sides will be more than enough to take it out. The others will stay back by the main fire in front of the horses. The cave will be a last resort for them if the damned thing gets past us. Dean, Sam and Josiah will stay behind the fire, with the others behind them."

Chris nodded his agreement. The plan made sense to him, and privately he thought it a good one. Especially since Vin would be up high and safe. He glanced down at the pile of wood, gave it a nudge with a boot.

"How about another fire in the cave? Can't hurt to be careful, and if they have to retreat farther back they can use it as a weapon as well."

Winchester nodded in agreement, pleased with Chris' quick thinking. He turned to his boys.

"Sam. Dean. Fetch more wood."

"Yes, sir!" they chorused, and immediately headed off to do so. It would be hours before moonrise, but they didn't want to venture any farther from camp then they had to.

Nathan waited a moment, then called after them and followed to lend a hand. He wanted to know more about the unnatural thing on their trail. It brought back uneasy memories of the old folk tales his auntie had told by the fireside when he was a boy on the plantation. If such a thing existed, were the other undead things she had muttered about real as well? He had to know.

Chris turned to Buck and JD, knowing Ezra would believe nothing until he saw it for himself,

"You two are in charge of the horses tonight. When they get wind of that thing, they're gonna want to run. We don't want a stampede over our backs. The Winchesters mounts are battle trained, but ours ain't. Leave the mare and mule alone, they know their business. Just make sure Peso doesn't get it in his head to stomp anybody that moves."

He turned stern eyes on JD.

"You're good with horses. Make sure they're well tethered. Check that tie rope and every knot. Make sure they're secure. Use Sam and John's horses as anchors for the long rope. They will stand steady. Keep ours as calm as you can. When they cool down enough feed them all some of the oats we kept back, and give them some water. We should have plenty. Josiah refilled all our water skins last night. "

He turned to Buck, looked his oldest friend dead in the eye.

"You remember that thing after Perryville? This is gonna be worse. Faster, stronger and smarter. Keep your head and save your fire. Don't either of you shoot unless it gets past us. You boys are the last line. Ez doesn't even believe the things exist. He'll be useless until the shock wears off. Keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't panic and run--with our gold."

Buck nodded, chewing his moustache. He remembered that night in Perryville, the foul stench of the ghostly, clawed creature that had scurried out of the churchyard and tried to drag Chris away. He shuddered, remembering the pile of bloody, gnawed human bones that John Winchester had shown him the next day in the thing's grisly den. He really didn't want to think of anything worse than that, but he reckoned a walking man-wolf pretty much topped it. The ghoul had been a scavenger, like an undead vulture, but the creature hunting them was a predator.

He clapped Chris on the shoulder, and curled a big hand on JD's neck, tugging him along, the young'un was looking a mite white around the eyes. He would have to keep a close eye on the boy. He had a knack for wasting every shot in his gun without hitting a damned thing.

"Come on kid, you heard the man. We got work to do."

He winked at Larabee over the boy's head and led him off towards the horses. Chris turned back to Vin.

"You found your spot?"

"Yep."

Larabee nodded and they both turned back to John.

Now that the plans were made and the important preparations well in hand, he was calmly kindling a small fire to make coffee. It was still hours before nightfall, so they had plenty of time to eat and rest and be ready to face the night. They exchanged a glance, shrugged and went to join him. The man's icy calm was comforting. He faced monsters down for a living. They figured it was damned lucky they had met up with him and his boys before the werewolf had crossed their trail.

After a moment Josiah joined them, still clutching the wickedly sharp halberd. Privately, Vin thought John might have to pry it out of the big man's hands if he wanted it back again.

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The moon rose, full and swollen, over the mountains, illuminating the countryside for miles around them. It would have been beautiful, if it not for the eerie, blood-curdling howl that rang up now from their back trail. It grew closer every hour. The deep, moaning bass howl was obviously not from an ordinary wolf. The men were tense in their chosen positions. Vin knelt above the lip of the cave, waiting patiently, heavy sniper rifle in hand. He had killed a professional assassin in Kansas City for the gun. It was a prized possession.

The only fire was the main one, and Nate stood beside it ready to heap it high when signaled. John and Chris would light the twin fires flanking the narrow opening of their refuge at the last moment before the attack. Buck and JD were back with the horses, which were already nervous, pawing the ground and rolling their eyes. JD moved among them soothing them and calming himself by keeping busy, with a low voice and gentle pats. Dean's mare, the red mule and Peso stood facing outwards, heads high and nostrils flaring. The mule threw his head up, flattened his long ears and sent out a loud, ringing defiant bray that had the men grinning despite themselves.

"You tell that bastard, Francis!" Dean called.

Sam grinned at the Missouri mule's bravado. The damned mule feared nothing. The only man the animal showed any affection for was Dean, whom he loved. He only tolerated the others, and lived for any opportunity to bite Sam or kick John Winchester into next week. Sam had seen more than one would-be horse thief stomped into a greasy spot, courtesy of Francis, after a midnight encounter with the Winchester mounts. He glanced at Nathan and Josiah, who stood grimly beside him, and took pity.

"It's going to be alright," he said gently.

The big priest shot him a sour look.

"You seen that?"

Sam regarded him calmly.

"Yes."

Josiah shut up and Nathan relaxed a hair, even as he shifted closer to the fire.

They waited as the howl grew close. When it sounded right at the entrance to their rocky refuge, then suddenly went silent, Chris and John tossed torches down on the bonfires from their positions above, and the flames roared up from the dry brush. Nathan had soaked the branches with a hoarded tin of lamp oil. When he saw the twin fires lit, he immediately tossed more fuel on their own fire, building the blaze high. Behind him, one of the horses whinnied and pawed in fear, and he heard Buck soothing it.

The thing that leapt into the firelight was something out of a nightmare. It was a huge, twisted parody of a man and wolf. A massive wolf's head with slavering jaws set above a man's broad, furry torso. The sinewy, muscular arms ended in hands tipped with long, curved, razor like claws. The lower body was more lupine, with a wolf's furry haunches and bushy tail.

It paused, stood up in the light like a man and lifted its head and growled at its chosen prey, gleaming yellow eyes locked arrogantly on Dean, where he stood protectively in front of the others. It obviously feared nothing, and consequently expected no resistance. Upright, framed under the moon, it made a nightmarish sight.

Josiah stood stock still, clutching the halberd, hands sweaty and all his prayers dying on his lips as his mind went blank with sheer terror. He felt his bowels clench and hoped dimly that he would not disgrace himself by shitting his pants. He fought the urge to run mindlessly gibbering away and hide in the dark.

Before it could leap, Vin's shot boomed out, quickly echoed by Dean's, John's and Chris'. Vin's aim was true, as always, taking the thing right through the heart. The rest of the shots riddled it with silver, almost as an afterthought causing the creature to writhe and scream as it died, and die it did, collapsing in a furry heap, choking on its own bloody froth with a wet, red tongue protruding from fanged jaws.

Nathan realized he was standing there like a slack jawed idiot, rifle held foolishly in hand, frozen with shock. Time seemed to slow. He was dimly aware over the roar of pounding blood in his ears and of Josiah muttering something in Latin to his left. It sounded more like cussing than a prayer. Peso neighed shrilly behind them and Ezra murmured a shaky "Good Lord," beside him.

Sam's teeth were flashing in response to the brilliant smile that his brother turned and beamed proudly at him when the second, unexpected attack came.

It was totally silent and took them all by surprise. A smaller, darker creature suddenly erupted out of its hiding place in the shadows and bowled Dean over, fangs flashing for his throat. He barely had time to ram the barrel of his rifle between its jaws before it flung him like a rag doll back against the rocks and the back of his head cracked against hard stone and he went limp. The werewolf snarled as it savagely shook its head, slinging bloody froth, and flung the rifle to one side as it threw its head back, howling in triumph as it prepared to tear the unconscious man's vulnerable throat out.

It never got the chance.

Sam was suddenly there, cape of his greatcoat flaring like an avenging angel's wings from his broad shoulders. Snarling with fury, one big hand reached out and fearlessly curled into the fur of the creature's nape. In one smooth, pitiless motion he pulled its head back, slit its throat to the bone with his silver scythe blade, and yanked its head back so hard and fast that Josiah heard the crack of vertebrae. The triumphant howl became a choked off gurgle as dark arterial blood sprayed, and Sam's wiry forearms bulged as he carelessly flung the dying thing aside, intent on reaching his fallen brother.

"Dean!"

He didn't seem to even notice the crack of gunshots as the men finished it off, and every man with a gun shot it at least once out of sheer nerves. Before it finished twitching in its death throes, Josiah waded in with his halberd and started chopping, mumbling scripture under his breath. By the time he finished, both creatures were in pieces.

Sam's sole focus was his brother. He knelt by the smaller man's side, big hands shaking as he carefully examined Dean's head and neck and snarling when his palm came back bloody after gingerly probing the back of his head.

"Sam!" John's voice was a deep, commanding rumble. "Get your brother over next to the fire, so we can get a better look at him."

Sam jerked in response to that whip crack tone and lifted his head to glare at his father, dark eyes flaring with a barely contained fury, lips curling back over white teeth.

For a moment, Josiah thought he would turn on his father like an animal, but he didn't. Instead, he lifted his brother in his arms, cradling him against his chest, and stood carefully, his mouth pressed against Dean's temple, eyes closed. When he opened them, Josiah saw the fear hidden there. Fear and a fierce love for the man he held next to his heart. A love that rivaled one Josiah had only seen once before---between a surly black clad gunslinger and a shy tracker. The hidden piece slid into place and he saw into the heart of what made Samuel Winchester tick, what kept him alive in a world of monsters.

Sam carried Dean over to the fire where Ezra was piling on more brush for better light, even as Nathan was pulling out his medical bag. Buck quickly unrolled a bedroll for the fallen man. Sam kept one hand on his brother, eyes intent on the pale, unconscious face as Nathan carefully examined him.

Josiah stood guard, back to the fire, dripping blade at ready, as Chris and John explored the shadows for any other shapeshifters, wary after the surprise attack. After all, they had only heard one howl. Could there be a pack? Vin stood at ready over them, keen eyes sweeping the rocks, alert to any movement in the deep moon cast shadows, but nothing more stirred there, and after a while he slowly relaxed and stood at ease, still on guard.

Below the others moved uneasily around the main fire, still running on adrenaline, unable to keep still. Josiah found himself circling its outskirts like a lion, eyes on the dark beyond. He slid a glance over at the horses and slowly began to relax at the sight of the mare and mule standing quietly, nibbling at bits of dry grass. Peso stood alertly, ears pricked and eyes wide, but calm. He trusted the animal's senses more than his own.

JD stood so close to Buck they were practically joined at the hip, wide eyes locked on the furry, hacked corpses lying just beyond the firelight. Ezra was slumped on a boulder, pale and sweaty, flask tilted back as he drank deeply. His opium dreams would have a darker cast from now on. Vin stood sentinel even after Chris and John returned to the fire. There would be no real sleep for anyone for the rest of the night.

John strode to the fire and knelt by his sons, handsome face grim.

"Did it bite him?"

Sam gave his father a cold look, one hand firmly clasping his brother's.

"No, sir. He hit his head against the rocks."

Josiah saw the tense set of the dark man's shoulders relax. He couldn't begin to imagine how worried the man must have been for his eldest boy. Worried not only that he was hurt, but also that he might be a victim of the creature's bite. How could such a man face having to put down his own son, like a mad dog? Josiah could barely fathom being forced to do that.

Nathan took a water soaked bandanna and gently swiped it over Dean's face, and he began to stir and gave a feeble moan, eyes moving under the lids. The healer gave a grunt of satisfaction at the response.

"He's gonna be fine. Got a goose egg on the back of his thick skull is all. The cut is shallow. He'll have a hell of a headache when he wakes up. We'll take it easy tomorrow, let him rest a bit." He rumbled in his hoarse ruin of a voice.

He lifted his head and shared a wide grin of relief with Sam. He liked these Winchester brothers. They were smart, resourceful boys who had ignored his skin color from the first, and treated him with nothing but respect, and that was a rare thing. He acknowledged Sam's nod of thanks and busied himself with his medicine bag. He pulled out a small corked cobalt glass vial and handed it to Sam.

"When his head gets bad tomorrow-and it will-have him swallow this. Then keep an eye on him, because it'll make him a mite groggy."

"Thanks Mr. Jackson, We're obliged." Sam said softly, accepting the vial and tucking it carefully into a pocket.

John knelt by his son and nodded agreement. He reached out a calloused hand and stroked the hair off Dean's forehead, the gesture rift with affection. A small smile quirked the corner of his mouth when Dean's nose wrinkled in response and he moaned as he fought for consciousness.

"Hush son, rest. We took care of business. Sleep now," he rumbled, deep voice gentle.

Long lashes fluttered open, revealing pained, dazed green eyes. They immediately sought out his brother and father.

"Sammy? Dad--" he slurred softly, fighting to stay conscious, to sit up.

"Hush boy, you rest now. You heard your pa. Everything's okay now. Your family is safe right here."

Nathan rumbled gently, and pressed him gently back down.

Dean resisted until he had reassured himself that his brother and father were safe, the hand Sam held twisted to entwine their fingers together. Then his lashes drooped closed and he sank back into blessed unconsciousness.

Nathan left the boy in his brother's care. Sam never let go of his hand, just spooned his lanky body protectively around his brother, sliding one arm under his neck to cushion his head, tucking him close and crooning gently in his ear. John unfolded a blanket and tucked it over his sons, stood and stepped away to where Larabee stood.

"You reckon there are any more of those things out there?" Chris asked, jaw tense, and narrowed green eyes constantly sweeping their surroundings, alert for danger. The attack had unnerved the gunslinger more than he cared to admit. He glanced up above the cave, took in the sight of his partner silhouetted under the moon, standing watch over them, and relaxed slightly.

John sighed, took his hat off and scratched the back of his head.

"No. I think this was just a mated pair. Werewolf packs are rare. They're too savage to be social enough to pack up. Plus we only heard the alpha male. If there were more males there would have been more howling."

Chris swallowed hard as he stared over at the corpses. He looked slightly ill.

"Those things breed?"

"Yeah. Remember, they're human most of the time. I don't know if the change lets the females bear live young, but they do breed. This was probably some hunter who brought the disease home to his wife, not realizing it."

He sighed and looked his old friend in the eyes.

"Come and sit down and have some coffee. I'll tell you what I know about werewolves and other shapeshifters."

Chris snorted. "You mean there are more than one kind of the damned things?"

"Yeah, unfortunately there are. I'll teach how to recognize the signs and kill them, although chances are you'll never see another in your lifetime."

"I sure as hell hope not!"

John laughed and led the way back to the fire. He would share what knowledge he safely could with these dangerous men. God knows they could always use more Hunters in the battle against the darkness. However, he didn't think they were ready to deal with demons and their like. He would try and keep things simple.

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They decided to move camp the next day. They needed fresh water and Vin knew of a stream a few miles away with good grazing. This time, hopefully they would be able to camp in safety and get some real rest. Dealing with a relentless posse, Comancheros and werewolves in the same week was more than a mite tiring, and enough to wear the strongest man down.

The seven had been horrified at the sight of the changed corpses that morning. Instead of monsters, there were the mutilated, decapitated remains of the sturdy body of some unknown Apache along with the slight brown form of his wife. They got their first lesson in salting and burning, and John warned them not to touch the blood if they could avoid it, to avoid infection. He wore sturdy gloves himself as he dealt efficiently with the corpses, using only his shovel blade to touch them.

They dug a deep grave and shoveled the ashes and burnt remains into it, covering it not only with heavily salted soil, but heavy stones as well, to keep unwitting scavengers from infection. Josiah murmured a brief prayer for the lost souls, and he and John shifted a heavy, flat boulder over the joint grave. Winchester then painted an elaborate sigil on the stone. Sanchez couldn't help but wonder if it was meant to warn others away or keep something in. He didn't quite have the courage to ask though.

They rode out slowly this time, partially for Dean's sake, and glad to be leaving. The eldest Winchester son had awoken in his brother's arms with a hell of a headache, as Nathan had predicted. Cranky and sore, he had moodily submitted to his brother's patient care, eating a few bites of jerky and biscuit and obediently swallowing down the medicine that Sam held to his lips.

He had been quite vocal and profane in protesting when Sam insisted he share a horse, due to his intense dizziness, but was forced to give in when his father ordered him to do so. Now he slept in a medicated doze in the saddle behind his brother, drooling against one broad shoulder. Sam kept both his brother's hands tucked within one of his own, Dean's arms around his waist to keep him on the bay. Baby followed closely behind like a pet dog, jealous that her beloved master was riding another horse.

The new campsite looked almost like paradise to the weary travelers. Vin had led them to a small, hidden valley complete with lush grazing and a broad, slow moving stream winding through a stand of oaks and willows. They unpacked with relief, glad to finally be able to rest. Sam lifted his groggy brother down on the sunny stream bank, and soon he was dozing again, head on his brother's thigh.

Nathan and Josiah built a small, smokeless fire for coffee while Vin and Chris took off in search of game for the pot. When they returned a few hours later with a yearling buck and mussed hair and flushed faces, no one said anything. John turned the Winchester mounts loose, allowing them to graze. They were too well trained to venture far away. The others had tethered or hobbled their mounts beneath the oaks in a lush patch of thick grass. Buck and JD sprawled out next to the fire, and were soon snoozing themselves, hats over their faces, while Ezra brooded silently nearby in the shade of an oak.

John sat down and patiently began smelting out a new batch of silver bullets to replace those used the previous night. He frowned down at his remaining silver hoard--a small bar and several heavy spoons. It was a good thing they were meeting up with Bobby in a few days, their stores were getting dangerously low. However he couldn't complain. A deadly nest of vampires and a pair of werewolves were dead now because of his and his son's efforts. He glanced over to where his sons rested.

Sam sat relaxed, leaning back on his palms face tilted to the warmth of the sun, while Dean slept, head in his brother's lap. His boys were safe and to him, that was all that really mattered at the moment.

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Josiah didn't think he would ever sleep soundly again, so he and Nate took first watch on this last full moon night, silver loaded rifle firmly in hand. He paced the perimeter of the camp, eyes as wide as those of the hoot owl that had flown over his head earlier and nearly given him a heart attack. He wondered if his hair was standing on end. It sure felt like it. He lifted his head to reassure himself of Nathan's silent presence on the hill above.

He glanced down into the peaceful camp. John Winchester, the cool bastard, slept like a babe in a cradle, hat over his face, hands clasped over his belly. Vin and Chris were spooned together off to the side, one of Larabee's arms wrapped possessively around the sharpshooter's narrow waist. They too slept soundly. Buck and JD slept uneasily back to back near the fire. Every so often JD would jerk awake and peer around, reassuring himself of his safety.

Ezra was curled so close to the flames it was a wonder he wasn't singed. Josiah understood that deep, primitive need to stay close to the warmth and light. He felt as though a veil had been ripped off his eyes, leaving him naked and raw. He had always been a superstitious man, and now he felt the need to atone for every evil thing he had ever done. Surely if such evil existed, angels walked the earth as well.

He wandered over to where the horses were tethered close for the night, taking comfort in their sleepy calm. Besides, he figured that if there was another were lurking out there in the dark, Francis the mule would be a good thing to have between it and him. According to John Winchester, the mule had stomped to death at least three horse thieves as well as a prowling cougar and more snakes then he had kept count of. He paused to pat his big sorrel's velvet nose, grateful for the animal's familiar affection. The sturdy animal might not be as fast as Dean's mare, as vicious as Peso, or a man killer like Francis, but he was calm and dependable and Josiah was grateful for that.

A low, guttural moan caught his ear. The sound came from beyond the horses, near the murmuring stream and from behind a clump of young willows. Cautiously, Josiah edged around the rump of Buck's tall gray mare. He was torn between checking out the source of the noise himself or signaling to Nathan to watch his back.

The horses were calm and unperturbed by the soft sounds though, so he forced himself to slip silently up to the willows, grateful for the bright light of the moon. Still, he found himself wistfully wishing he had borrowed John's silver halberd again. Cautiously, he reached out and parted the branches with the barrel of his rifle, heart pounding and half expecting a fanged face to pop out.

Instead he saw Sam and Dean lying tangled together on a blanket beside the stream. They lay on their sides facing Josiah, Sam spooned into his brother from behind, and Sanchez felt the heat rise in his face as he realized the youngest son was fucking the eldest.

Dean's smaller body was almost hidden beneath Sam's clothed bulk. Sam had one big hand clamped over his brother's mouth to muffle his broken moans, the other was pumping Dean's hard cock in sync with his own lusty thrusts. Dean had reached back over his head and had one hand entangled in the long hair at his brother's nape, while he clutched desperately at the sleeve of his greatcoat with the other. His eyes were closed in a mix of pleasure and pain, because Sam was alternating sharp nips to his earlobe with licks and sucking bites to his neck and shoulder, even as he crooned into his abused ear.

Sam fucked him slow and hard, hips thrusting lazily as though he had all the time in the world. Dean was beautiful in the moonlight, clothes open and pushed down, revealing his pale, compact torso and hard muscled thighs, the thin line of hair leading down from his navel to where Sam's big hand worked the thick organ between them. His dark, long muscled thigh was thrown over his paler brother's legs, pinning him in place as he ravished him. Their pants were pushed down around their ankles.

Dean whimpered and pushed urgently back against his brother seeking his climax. Sam purred softly, gave a throaty growl and picked up the pace as he thrust hard into his brother's body, hissing encouragement as Dean arched his back and shot sticky ropes of cream over Sam's broad, slick hand as he went over the edge.

Sam gave a audible growl as Dean sank his teeth hard in his palm and yanked reflexively at his hair, ass clenching velvet heat around Sam's long, thick cock. He gave a bass grunt and came as well, shooting his load deep within his brother's body even as he sank his teeth deep enough into Dean's shoulder to bring blood. He lapped at the small wound contently as his brother relaxed in his sheltering arms, panting softly as he caught his breath.

Josiah licked his dry lips in his hiding place, suddenly all too aware of his own erection straining against his pants, thoughts of monsters in the night vanished from his brain like smoke. He stared hungrily, eyes locked on Dean Winchester's handsome, blissed out face, the lush, full parted lips, the dark lashes shielding the green eyes. He couldn't remember seeing a more beautiful sight than that face in the moonlight and the pale, half hidden, sculpted torso.

Sanchez fought to control his breathing and thought he had won, until he lifted his gaze from Dean's sweetly parted lips and found Sam's eyes locked on his. Smirking, eyes shining with wickedness, the younger Winchester held his gaze as he slid his palm up to cup his brother's jaw and tilt his head back to take his mouth in a deep, wet kiss. Dean yielded sleepily, never opening his eyes as his brother took his mouth. Sam remained curled around him, still deep inside his body and there was a lush wet sound as their lips parted when he finally lifted his mouth from his brother's.

Eyes still locked with Josiah's, he deliberately licked his lips, savoring his brother's taste, even lifting his hand to his mouth and lapping Dean's seed from it, cleaning himself like a big cat. Josiah had never seen a clearer act of possession on his life. The message was clear. Dean belonged to Sam, would always belong to Sam.

Message delivered, Sam now ignored him, as he carefully tended to his sleepy, sated lover, cleaning him and gently rearranging his clothes before wrapping him warm and close against his body inside the oversized greatcoat. Every languid motion spoke of sexual satisfaction, as he pulled Dean close and drew the blanket up, shielding him from Josiah's hungry gaze. He curled around his brother, tucked Dean's tousled head under his chin and closed his eyes, falling asleep instantly to all appearances.

Breathing harshly, Josiah backed slowly away, leaving them to their privacy. He turned and stumbled back towards the horses, the erotic images forever burned into his brain. He rounded the end of the line where the horses were and nearly jumped out of his skin when Nathan loomed out of the shadows in front of him.

"Everything alright?" the big healer murmured, eyeing his friend curiously. Josiah still seemed a mite spooked. He offered him a steaming tin cup of coffee.

Sanchez took it gratefully, and blew on it to cool the bitter brew.

"Fine, other then the fact that you nearly gave me a heart attack," he grumbled, grateful that Nate couldn't see his flushed face in the shadows.

Nate snorted in amusement, white teeth flashing in the dark.

"You seen Sam and Dean?" He asked casually, taking a sip from his own cup,

Josiah nearly choked in mid swallow, but managed to answer coherently. "Yeah, they're bedded down over by the stream."

Nathan nodded, frowning.

"You think they'll be safe so far from the fire?"

Josiah snorted, remembering Sam's savage, fearless defense of his brother against a living nightmare, when he himself had stood frozen, nearly shitting his pants.

"They're fine. Nothing will dare touch them if it has half a brain."

Nate chuckled in agreement.

"I imagine you're right."

They finished their coffee and went to wake up Buck and JD for their turn at watch.

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They camped by the small river for the next three days, resting. Vin jerked what was left of the meat of the small deer he had killed, drying it in the sun, and they all took time to wash and mend their clothing and to shave and bathe. Standish loudly complained about the lack of hot water and decent soap, even as he lathered his face.

Dean healed quickly and fussed over his beloved horse when he discovered a minute crack in one hoof. Sam was looking much better, the rest, ample food and Nathan's healing tisanes going a long way towards helping his vicious headaches. He spent a lot of time with Nathan trading knowledge of the supernatural for knowledge of healing herbs. He even gave the black healer a small gris-gris bag stitched with a sigil, containing pungent herbs and a sharp, shark like tooth as a protective amulet as thanks for the medicines. Nathan remarked aside to Josiah that he had never seen anyone learn as fast as Sam did. He would have made a hell of a scholar.

John spent the time cleaning and checking his small arsenal. He had been pleased when every man there turned out their pockets and gave him every bit of silver they carried. He was able to make enough silver bullets for a satisfactory restock.

On the morning of the fourth day they had company.

Francis had given them warning, lifting his head in a loud heehaw of greeting to the newcomers. John introduced them to the laconic, narrow-eyed, bearded mountain man who wore fringed, beaded leather and a beaver hat. He rode a sturdy little dun mustang and carried a long rifle and a tomahawk tucked in his belt. He was accompanied by a hard-eyed, handsome, tawny haired woman and a brace of mastiffs.

Bobby Singer was a long time hunter who hailed from the Dakota territories. He had left behind his Sioux wives with their relatives to meet up with the Winchesters. The woman with him was Ellen Harvelle. He had picked her up along the way. Her husband, a wayside tavern owner had been killed and her daughter taken by a nomadic group of vampires two weeks ago, and they were hot on their trail. Singer reckoned if they left immediately and cut north, they would cross the trail in a day or so. They had high hopes that the girl was still alive.

The Winchesters began to pack up immediately, and John turned to take his leave from his old friend. Larabee clasped his hand hard. He hated to see the man go. He frowned as he watched as the Winchesters moved with their usual economy, packing the mule and tacking up their horses.

Singer and Harvelle were resting and watering their own mounts, the new widow woman coolly ignoring Buck's every overture and fingering her rifle thoughtfully. Francis the mule was doing his best to sidle up within kicking distance of Bobby's big dogs, but Dean thwarted him and pulled him away. Sam was carefully packing his saddlebags with the packs of herbs that Nathan had given him.

Vin ghosted up beside him and tilted his head questioningly, waiting.

Larabee snorted at his own foolishness, and slapped his hat against his thigh.

"We ain't heroes. Or a damned posse."

"Nope," Vin agreed amiably.

"We're wanted by half the damned country."

"Yep," Vin nodded in agreement. He watched as Francis made yet another sneak attack on the nearest unsuspecting dog. Dean again dragged him off, scolding every step of the way, the big mule followed sulkily, ears flat.

Larabee narrowed his eyes at his younger partner. The tracker's face was as stoic as ever.

"Ezra will probably gamble away all our gold in San Francisco."

Vin tilted his head considering, brow wrinkled as he pondered.

"Nope, I hid most of it before we left New Mexico territory."

Larabee regarded him with admiration.

"You sneaky little devil."

Vin gave him a modest smile.

"I kinda want to see one of them vampire critters," he admitted, not mentioning the dead one Dean had showed him.

"It might be a good thing to know how to kill 'em," Chris agreed.

"I'm a mite bored with outlawing," He added thoughtfully.

Vin nodded in agreement.

"We're in, too."

Josiah's deep voice rumbled from behind them where he and Nate had walked up to blatantly eavesdrop.

Larabee raised a blond brow.

"These vampire things are smarter then a werewolf. Maybe stronger too." Josiah snorted in disdain and walked off to saddle his horse.

"I reckon they can die just as easy."

Nate grinned at them over his shoulder as he followed the big preacher.

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It was decided in an hour. Buck, JD and Ezra would continue with the gold laden mule, west to San Francisco where they would lay low at Maude's fancy hotel. Larabee, Tanner, Jackson and Sanchez would tag along on the vampire hunt north, until they killed the damned things.

The Winchesters had been surprised but obviously pleased with the offer for help. Singer and Harvelle were suspicious, but outwardly grateful. Truth was, they could use all the help they could get and Vin's trail skills would be invaluable. The vampire sire was an old and powerful one, and shrewd when it came to choosing minions.

As they rode out the two groups parted ways, but it was not the end of Los Magnificos, just a new beginning. One group headed north, the other west.

All higher predators survived by learning and adapting to a changing environment, and the world was changing fast.

Men were no different.

 

  
One for sorrow  
Two for mirth  
Three for a funeral  
Four for a birth  
Five for silver  
Six for gold  
Seven for a secret  
Never to be told  
Eight for heaven  
Nine for hell  
Ten for the devil his own self.

*Old English Rhyme about Crows  


  
THE END

10/29/07


End file.
